


Don't stray

by oddishly



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, First Time, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28728159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddishly/pseuds/oddishly
Summary: A long way from Camelot, Merlin and Arthur do everything they need to to stay alive.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 218
Collections: Merlin Holidays 2020





	Don't stray

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookie/gifts).



> Dear scotscookie, I tried so many versions of your prompts and likes and then this one stuck and I just couldn't leave it alone. I hope you enjoy <3 Thank you to my beta [furloughday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furloughday/pseuds/furloughday) and the writing crew for being fab!

It was the worst possible place to be ambushed. Out on the moors, a great distance from Camelot, nowhere to run or drop or dive into, no one on their way as backup or even aware that they were out there: Merlin shared a brief glance with Arthur and then looked back out to the people circling them.

“And this,” murmured Arthur over the sound of the rain, sword raised in the direction of some small fraction of the people creeping towards them, “is why we don’t let ourselves get surrounded, Merlin.”

“Good to know, sire. I’ll bear it in mind for the future.”

There were more hooded soldiers than Merlin could count, with a second circle of men bounding them, no moonlight to help identify their colours. And the rain was coming sideways now like they weren’t all miserable enough as it was.

Merlin made a split-second decision. He flicked a brief choking spell at Arthur from behind him and didn’t wait to see him lower his sword and clutch his throat. Merlin stepped forward and shouted into the wind, “All right, lower your weapons. I am Arthur Pendragon. Crown Prince of Camelot. I said lower your weapons!”

“No,” Arthur gasped despite the choking spell, thankfully too quiet for anyone else to hear him. Merlin supposed he should take it as a comfort that he hadn’t accidentally killed him or something, and then something heavy and sword handle-like landed on the back of his head and that was Merlin’s last thought for quite some time.

It was still raining when he woke up. Merlin thought he could hear trees too, swaying and groaning in the heavy wind. They must have travelled.

Merlin’s head was pounding. He lifted a hand to his forehead to give it a massage with his fingertips, belatedly noticed the restraints around his wrists, and groaned.

“Oh, good morning, my lord,” came a chilly voice from somewhere close by. “I’m afraid the accommodation isn’t what you’re accustomed to but it was the best I could get you on short notice.”

Merlin opened his eyes to a grey stone wall and a bed of straw beneath him. He let his eyes close again and rolled over as slowly as he could. “Is it morning?”

“Good question, my lord. It would probably be easier to tell if we weren’t stuck in a cell but who am I to argue with your judgment—if you think it’s best for us to be trapped and shackled behind enemy lines, it certainly wouldn’t be my place to tell you you’re a blinding idiot—”

“That’d be a first,” Merlin mumbled, blinking a bit into the bright daylight.

“—seeing as you’re the prince now. Tell me, my lord, would you like me to start by polishing your sword or shall I break you out of those iron restraints first? I’ve still got my teeth, nothing better for me to do with them than chew my way through—”

“Yes, all right, I get it,” said Merlin, and managed to disentangle himself from the ropes enough to pull himself upright as Arthur cut himself off, teeth grinding audibly.

They were in a small, stone holding cell, probably at the top of a narrow tower, if the full view of the wet sky and the bitter wind whipping around their feet was anything to go by. Merlin was tied at ankle and wrist to the wall; Arthur was a bit closer than he’d thought, also tied to the wall with heavy ropes. His expression was grim and displeased, fists clenched and mouth drawn into a thin line when he looked at Merlin.

“Are you hurt?” Merlin asked for want of anything better to say.

“No. Just poorly rested. This tower is windy and they gave you the better bed, for some mysterious reason.” Sarcasm dripped from Arthur’s words.

Eyeing the two identical stacks of straw that served as their beds, Merlin wasn’t sure he agreed with that assessment. Still it didn’t seem very worth it to argue when Arthur was in a mood. He nodded instead.

“So what was your brilliant plan?” Arthur asked. “Pretend to be the crown prince of Camelot, get captured, inevitably get discovered as a liar—and a bad one at that—get us both tortured, get us both killed? Something like that?”

Merlin took a deep breath. “Getting captured wasn’t actually part of the plan. Well, you getting captured, anyway. I thought they’d give me a bit more time to persuade them to let you go. Did they knock you out too?”

“Of course.” Arthur shook his head. “Good grief, Merlin. Haven’t you paid a second’s attention during any of our previous hostage situations? If you’re planning to negotiate, you need something to bargain with.”

“The prince of Camelot isn’t a worthy prize?” Merlin made a face. “I’m reconsidering my plan as we speak.”

Arthur threw a piece of straw at him. “Very worthy. But you have to be in a bargaining sort of context. Not a fighting for your life one.”

“Ah. You’re saying that being surrounded on the moors in the middle of a thunderstorm wasn’t the time for negotiation.”

“That is indeed what I’m saying.”

Arthur seemed to have calmed down now that he’d told Merlin the ways he’d gone wrong and put them both in danger, so Merlin thought it might be safe to look him over for undisclosed injuries. He was obviously tired, and there was a blue-purple sheen to certain of his features that suggested the men who held them captive had given Arthur a bit of a seeing-to at some point after Merlin lost consciousness.

Merlin’s fingers twitched. He could feel magic sparking with his desire to heal Arthur up again, although it was muted in a way that Merlin couldn’t account for until he remembered the cold iron cuffs.

He looked at the bruises blossoming on Arthur’s face. Merlin really had thought that he’d have more time to negotiate for Arthur’s release.

He made a note to return the favour on the guards on their way out of here. Wherever here was.

Arthur’s restraints were long enough and positioned in such a way that he could stand and look out of the sole window, if he pulled against the ropes hard enough. Merlin watched as he reached his arms as far behind him as he could, iron digging into his wrists, straining against the pull of the rope, and clenched his own fists in sympathy. “What can you see?”

“Not sure. Not a lot. I wish this rain would stop.” Arthur frowned a bit. “Of course it could be a clue as to our location. It can’t be after noon yet, and I think—I’m not sure, who knows really—there’s a bright spot of sky far on the horizon to the left.”

“Do you see mountains?”

“Not sure,” said Arthur, and strained harder against the restraints. “Perhaps. Possibly not. No. Just mist.”

Merlin chewed on his lip. He could try a bit of magic to slick Arthur’s wrists in the cuffs. Arthur might see if he turned away from the window, or the cold iron on his own wrists and ankles might stop him. Was it worth it?

Arthur turned away from the window just as Merlin decided to risk it. “I don’t think there are mountains that way,” he said. “But I could be wrong. It’ll be easier to tell when the rain slows. If it ever does.”

“It always rains like this more along the coast,” Merlin offered. “We should start with that.”

Arthur nodded. “Perhaps.”

Merlin made himself sit up more. It would help if his head didn’t hurt so much, or if his clothes were dry. He put those things out of his mind. “Has anyone come in yet? Or did they talk to you before they locked us in here? Do you know what they want with us?”

“No and no.” Arthur sat back down on his own pile of straw, legs crossed. He raised his eyebrows at Merlin. Rain had got in around the edge of the window with the draught and wet his face. “And no. I’m not completely sure who they are, actually.”

Merlin tipped his head back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. “That’s unhelpful. Hard to pre-empt them without knowing who they are.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ve got a list of demands including a large amount of gold already written up to send to my father.” Arthur flexed another bit of straw Merlin’s way but didn’t throw it. “Your father, I should say.”

“I can’t imagine _your_ father has even noticed my absence yet,” said Merlin. “You, on the other hand, are probably already in his bad books for failing to show up to dinner.”

“Probably. Merlin, what were you thinking? You didn’t really think I was going to leave you behind.” Arthur flexed the bit of straw harder in his fingers, gaze fixed narrowly on Merlin in that way that was always hard to look away from. “And you know we don’t have the men to mount a rescue mission. And I don’t fancy scaling these walls, do you? Even if we had sheets for you to tie together.”

“I was thinking—” Merlin began, not completely sure where he was going with this but not planning on letting the words _total destruction by force of magic_ escape. Particularly when he wasn’t sure that it would even have worked anyway, now he found himself bound by cold iron. “I was thinking that one of us in handcuffs is better than two. Of course I knew you’d follow me and scale the tower and have me out by morning if you got free. The army could be in better shape than it’s been in years and the king wouldn’t let you take a single knight to come after me.”

“Hmm. Indeed. Now. Assuming—” began Arthur, and was cut off by the sudden appearance of six men in shiny armour barging into their cell.

Arthur leapt to his feet as well as the ropes allowed. “I demand you send your physician,” he snapped, a rather surprising comment under the circumstances until he gestured at Merlin and continued, “your buffoons gave the prince a serious head injury. It is incumbent upon you to see to it that he doesn’t suffer further harm as a result of your inaction.”

Even tied and hurt as he was, Arthur was resplendent in his anger. And even though he was rolling his Rs in a way that rich princes didn’t usually do but princes’ servants might.

Merlin set his jaw and looked away, stopping himself from biting his lip or something equally transparent to a roomful of Arthur’s enemies.

“If it turns out the prince needs medical attention after his meeting with the queen, I’ll be sure that he gets the care he needs,” said one of the men seriously, and apparently quite amusingly, if the snickers of the others were anything to go by. Merlin just refrained from rolling his eyes. Soldiers were the same everywhere.

He held his wrists out for the men to unlock the cuffs. The funny man shook his head. “Behind your back, if you please, your royal highness.”

“Very well,” said Merlin, endeavouring to keep it imperious. That part was actually quite hard. It was an attitude that he might have practiced on Arthur before he had do it to an audience, he thought.

After a second’s thought to decide what Arthur would have done, he leaned forwards to give the men access to the cuffs. They wove a tight, heavy connecting chain through the loops, locking and testing it before untying the ropes that attached Merlin to the wall.

“The queen is very much looking forward to meeting you, my lord prince,” said the man. “Will you come with us?”

“The feeling is mutual,” said Merlin truthfully, and swallowed a smile at Arthur’s faint look of exasperation.

“Something funny, my lord?” said the man.

“Oh no, don’t mind me. I laugh when I’m nervous,” said Merlin, deciding on the spot that he would leave imperious to Arthur. It was probably something you had to be born into to carry off properly, anyway. He let the men pull him up and onto his feet.

“Prince Arthur,” said Arthur, his voice a bit crackly, like he was trying to hold back from saying more.

None of the men was making a move towards Arthur, Merlin realised. He was still standing where he had when he’d jumped to his feet to demand a physician tend to Merlin’s wounds, ropes straining behind him. Well it was no good Merlin leaving the cell if Arthur couldn’t leave with him.

Merlin jerked to a stop in the middle of the room, digging his heels into the stone floor like that would stop six giant men from simply picking him up and carrying him. Or even one of them. Still. Merlin narrowed his eyes at the one who seemed to be in charge. “My servant?”

“Is certainly very easy on the eyes,” said the man after another glance at Arthur. “But I don’t believe the queen has any interest in seeing him at this meeting.”

“That’s unfortunate for the queen,” said Merlin pleasantly. “Because without um, Merlin here, I won’t be speaking to her at all.”

The leader thought for a moment. He looked at Merlin, who tried to look diminutive, and felt he had probably succeeded better with that than the imperiousness. Then the man shrugged. “Fine. Bring him,” he said, and jerked his head at two of the other soldiers to do so.

They were indeed quite a long way up, and there was very little else in the tower except for occasional further cells, all of them occupied. It did beg the question of why they’d been restrained in their cell. Merlin couldn’t imagine there were many other ways down than this one.

Merlin found himself glad of their escort on the way to the bottom, descending in tight circles on the wet stone while the wind continued to howl around their feet. The glances Merlin caught out of the sporadic and randomly positioned slitted windows showed nothing but trees and ocean as far as the eye could see. But some dizzying way down, Merlin started to notice that Arthur had been right, the light was stronger from one direction.

By the time they got to the bottom, Merlin was thoroughly turned around and sick-feeling. Arthur evidently noticed. He staggered a little towards Merlin and nudged him with his shoulder, murmuring, “Deep breaths.”

“Glad we didn’t try to rappel down that,” Merlin mumbled back, not really caring if anyone else heard him say it. It wasn’t as if they were going to try it now. “Especially not with curtains.”

One of the soldiers stifled a laugh.

It was hard to tell, but a careful look around the halls as the soldiers lead them to meet this new queen suggested that the region must have suffered some catastrophe recently. The hallway was crowded: there were children running around the guards, far more than would usually be found at the seat of power, where they surely were, and none of them well-clothed. The adults who stayed a little further back were thin and nervous, and very few of them bore weapons.

One look at Arthur said he’d noticed the same thing.

They eventually arrived at what had to be the courtroom, a little less chaotic and more stately than the halls they had just been walking through. There were no windows but fires roared at either end of the room, and instead of any kind of high table, an enormous feast table took centre stage. It seemed to double as a workbench and desk, as they passed by people pouring over maps and scribbling on parchment as they made their way through the room. At least it was warm, Merlin thought, and hoped they’d be chitchatting with this queen long enough for their clothes and shoes to dry out.

The leader put a hand out to stop them when they got halfway along the table but didn’t say anything.

Merlin looked around but couldn’t see anyone. “Queen running a bit behind this morning, is she?”

“Mer—my lord,” hissed Arthur beside him. “Is there any need for that?” He made it sound placating, which was impressive when he also sounded infuriated with Merlin. “These fine gentlemen have already told us that they’ll see to it your head wound is seen to after we talk to their queen.”

Merlin nodded, squashing a flicker of amusement down in the back of his mind and anticipating the verbal lashing Arthur would deliver whenever they got out of here.

He spent the time having a good look around the room, trying to discern anything from the maps spread over the table. No one was secreting them away or trying to stop him from looking. It didn’t help him to make any of it out anyway because the maps nearest them all described a landmass that he didn’t recognise, huge mountain ranges and coastlines that had to be of some foreign land far from Albion.

Merlin felt a flicker of concern. How long had he slept? They couldn’t have travelled that far, surely.

He tried to nudge Arthur’s attention towards the maps but Arthur was looking at the coat of arms that adorned an archway at the far end of the room, unfamiliar to Merlin but perhaps not to Arthur. Perhaps Arthur would work out whose lands they had entered.

Merlin realised he could probably do something about that himself. He looked at the guards standing in a loose semicircle around them. “How should I address your queen?”

“‘Your majesty’ is customary,” said the leader without looking at him.

“Does she have a name?”

“‘Your highness’ works too.”

“All right, snarky,” replied Merlin. “Just asking.”

Arthur stepped on his foot.

They didn’t have to wait too much longer before a minor calamity involving a number of servants and a soldier or two took place in the far doorway. Merlin looked on interestedly as a girl who couldn’t be more than 15 years old slipped into the room during the kerfuffle and headed towards them while attention was turned the other way. She had a shrewd, bright-eyed look about her, and her warm, well-made clothes reflected her station.

Merlin bowed his head respectfully when the girl arrived in front of him and Arthur and sat down across from them on the other side of the table. “Your highness,” he said, and heard Arthur murmur the same.

The queen acknowledged his bow with a tip of her own head, looking between Merlin and Arthur. “Prince Arthur,” she said. “My name is Trina. I apologise for the circumstances of our meeting.”

“Oh, that’s okay. All monarchs should spend a night on straw every once in a while. It’s character-building.”

The girl, Trina—the queen, Merlin reminded himself—smiled slightly. “I’m glad you think so. You will be provided with a more fitting sleeping arrangement tonight, of course.”

“My lady is very generous,” said Merlin, ignoring the stress he could feel radiating off Arthur beside him. “And we are very sorry for ah, trespassing on your lands. Wherever they are. Or we are. But perhaps you could release us instead. Just give us a map and a direction to walk in and we’ll be on our way.”

No one was paying much attention to them, Merlin realised as he said this. Of course the queen was, and the soldiers who had escorted them down through the tower were still present and alert, but no one else in the room seemed to have much interest in what was happening with two foreign prisoners, including a prince of Camelot. That certainly wasn’t the experience he had at home.

Trina waited until she had Merlin’s full attention again before continuing. “I look forward to the day we are able to do that,” she said. “For now though, we will need to wait until King Uther sends his counteroffer.”

“His counteroffer—” repeated Merlin. Arthur was now practically vibrating beside him. Merlin tried to shuffle closer to him; he wished he wasn’t still shackled. “What was your original offer?”

“For a reasonable sum of gold, we return both of your bodies to Camelot whole. Or mostly whole.”

Merlin gaped at her for a moment before he remembered himself and said, “I, ah. I definitely admire your commitment to a cause. But I’m going to warn you now that the king doesn’t negotiate with people who threaten his subjects.”

“Let us hope for your sakes that he makes an exception in your case,” said the queen politely. Merlin revised his estimation of her age. No one had this much poise and confidence before they even reached twenty years old.

Trina turned to look at Arthur. “My men tell me you are the manservant.”

“Yes, my lady,” said Arthur, more or less respectfully.

“And why would they say that?”

Arthur hesitated for a fraction of second. Then he said, “The prince refused to speak to you without me present, my lady.”

It was obvious that she suspected otherwise. Merlin didn’t dare look at Arthur for fear of giving them away. It had been foolish to demand that Arthur came with him, Merlin could have escaped alone and then cut back to rescue Arthur afterwards by sending the tower deep into the earth.

“I don’t believe you,” said Trina. She picked up a quill from on top of the pile of parchment at her elbow and pressed the tip lightly against the pad of her finger, not taking her eyes off Arthur. “No prince would announce himself when so clearly outnumbered in the dead of night. That’s what servants are for. Sacrificing in their stead.”

Merlin tried to ignore the fact that this was basically exactly what Arthur had told him in their cell on waking. He shrugged. “I’m not every prince. And … he’s more than just my servant.”

Trina looked intrigued.

“Don’t worry, I’m not offended,” said Merlin, trying to sound like he was amused. Or at least fake amused. Like he was playing along, anyway, involving himself in court games. “He does have very princely bone structure.”

“And he is dressed in very princely attire,” Trina agreed. “And he wears a princely silver ring.”

Clenching his fists, Merlin did his best to pull himself together. He leaned forwards as if to talk to Trina in confidence, but didn’t lower his voice to say, “I treat him very well.”

Trina looked between them. Then she said, “He also has a number of battle scars.” She tipped her head as her gaze travelled from Arthur’s neck to his sword arm to his shoulders and knees, all of which bore marks from the battlefield and the training ground. “None of which you have.”

“I’m better at avoiding arrows than he is.” Merlin winked. “They shoot straight past me and hit him instead.”

“It’s true, my lady, the prince is uncommonly lucky,” Arthur said.

Trina looked unconvinced. She made a brief gesture to one of her men and then said to Arthur, “I have no use for a prince who hides behind his manservant. I will kill him—” she jerked her head at Merlin—“and send his body in a basket. I trust that your father will recognise him, at least, enough to take me seriously.”

“No,” began Arthur.

“My lady, do you know anything of Camelot?” Merlin asked desperately. He glanced at Arthur again, trying to communicate trust and warning in his tone and expression.

“As much as any person does. A hilly, mountainous kingdom bordered mostly by water, with a tyrannical king and no place for magic.” Her lip curled. There were people in the room with them in that moment who were clearly using magic without fear of reprisal, and the fires were blazing unnaturally high.

Merlin smiled coldly. “Would the prince’s manservant choose to make his life in Camelot if he could do this?” He looked Trina straight on, crossed his fingers and whispered a spell, trusting that she would see his eyes burn if it worked.

The cuffs around his wrists clattered to the ground behind him. A second later, several people grabbed him at once; Merlin flicked his wrist like he was swatting a fly, and the hands let go immediately.

Trina was clearly surprised, eyes wide and mouth opening a little for a second. She did an outstanding job of recomposing herself before anyone could really have noticed. Although what did Merlin know, maybe everyone in the room had seen her reaction.

He held her gaze, feeling selfishly, cowardly glad of the excuse not to look at Arthur, and said, “No sorcerer would travel to Camelot just to become a servant and risk death on a pyre--but I was born of magic, the son of Uther Pendragon himself.”

“I see,” Trina said quietly. Then she looked over Merlin’s shoulder to Arthur. “Did you know?”

Merlin wondered what Arthur would say, and held his expression in stone until an eternity later when Arthur murmured, “There are no secrets between the two of us, my lady.”

A wave of sorrow engulfed Merlin at the words. He let out his breath in a long, slow exhale.

“Well, you might as well take his off too, then, hadn’t you,” said Trina with some irritation. “Even cold iron, hmm?” She waved off the soldier who tried to lean in and whisper in her ear.

Merlin glanced at Arthur when he said the spell again. Arthur’s jaw was set and he took a long second to meet Merlin’s gaze as the cuffs fell.

Merlin shrugged minutely, trying to convey all the longing and apology and explanation that he could in the fraction of a second they had.

“And you allowed yourself to be taken by enemy forces?” said Trina. “When most servants would have fled once their prince was captured?”

Arthur only shrugged, and no one other than Merlin would have recognised the cold edge when, after a look to the side at Trina, he caught hold of Merlin’s wrist and said, “I swore to serve you, my lord.”

Then he pulled Merlin and kissed his mouth, lingering for a long moment before pulling away again.

Merlin’s eyes had fallen closed.

Actually, he thought, it was probably a good idea if he left them closed for a bit longer, and swayed on his feet a bit pretending that the magic had taken it out of him. No point revealing all his secrets to this hostile queen. He fumbled for the table to hold onto and found Arthur’s arm instead.

Trina tipped her head to the side in thought. She took her time, looking from Merlin to Arthur and back. “I’m not very often surprised, you know. I will think more on this. For now, my men will escort you to your cell. Your room,” she corrected herself. “One more suitable for your … needs.”

His lips still tingling, Merlin tried not to react to this.

“Clearly a lock will serve no purpose,” Trina clarified blandly. “I would be honoured if you would consent to stay longer, in the interests of fostering community and understanding between our two kingdoms.”

Merlin nodded. She still hadn’t told them what kingdom they were being held in, and not by accident.

Trina made a slight gesture and the soldiers surrounding Merlin and Arthur all took a careful step closer. Not too close though, now they knew Merlin was a sorcerer liable to rend them limb from limb.

He glanced at Arthur and again noticed the bruises on his cheekbones. Of course the bruises could have been augmented by a blush.

Merlin swallowed and made himself turn away.

He wasn’t feeling especially charitable anymore. Being rent limb from limb was indeed on the cards for the soldiers. He stared at Trina until she turned back from whatever message she was communicating with her men to meet his eye, and said, “I’d be grateful if you kept any mention of your knowledge of my magic out of your communications with King Uther. I value the present location of my head. Still attached to my shoulders.” He indicated.

“I wouldn’t dream of putting you in danger,” said Trina, as if she hadn’t just told them she planned to murder them both just to make a point. “You and I are the same, trying to do what is best for our kingdoms.”

“Yes. And lest you’re tempted, one word and I will burn this little hovel to the ground,” said Merlin just as blandly, and before Trina could respond, stepped aside to allow the soldiers to lead the way for him and Arthur.

They paused when they reached the foot of the tower and the men, who still remained a distance away from Merlin, made to continue up the stairs. Arthur caught Merlin’s eye to stop him from speaking, and instead spoke up himself. “Your queen instructed you to take the prince to fitting accommodation. That doesn’t include jail cells.”

The men shuffled their feet. Eventually the leader said, “The jail is at the top of the tower, it’s true. But we house our guests here as well, in the more spacious cells midway up. It cannot have escaped your notice that we are currently providing shelter to a considerable number of our own citizenry.”

Merlin had an idea. “That will do nicely,” he said before Arthur could protest them out of a room. “Lead on, please.”

The wind picked up once more as they ascended the stairs, spiraling higher and higher. Merlin realised rather belatedly that the great hall they had been buried in may have been underground, in whole or in part. That would explain the lack of windows in the hall. While compact, the room hadn’t been small by any stretch of the imagination, and was surely connected by smaller corridors and hallways. Merlin marvelled at such a great feat of engineering, wondering again where they had found themselves. He would have to talk to Arthur about it when they were alone again. The sound of the men around them—none of whom was labouring his breath, despite the weight of their armour—indicated a conversation would be hard to manage.

The walk up the stairs was rather more arduous than the walk down had been, although Merlin was glad of the prospect of not being prince anymore, and perhaps the opportunity to lie down on a bed made of something other than straw. Maybe there would even be a blanket. His headache was returning now they were out of the presence of the young queen, and faced with the prospect of explaining himself to Arthur.

Merlin’s thoughts skittered around the edge of Arthur’s kiss, not sure what to make of it, and thankfully they stopped rather sooner than Merlin had expected, certainly a long way below the cell they’d been stored in last night. No matter, thought Merlin, and looked inquiringly at the man in charge. “Have we arrived?Thank god for that, I’m parched. No idea how you lads make this hike every day.”

“By making it every day, my lord,” said the man without a hint of facetiousness, and opened the door for Merlin and Arthur to go inside.

There was no hiding that this was indeed a repurposed cell. It would have made no sense to break the walls to pull the shackling irons free or the hefty bars on the windows. All kingdoms went through unfortunate times and there would surely come a time when Trina would not need to house her guests in jail cells. But heavy tapestries on every surface made the space cosy, and a fat little oil lantern was lit in the corner opposite the window, casting a warm light throughout the room. Admittedly a very small one—although there were, Merlin was rather relieved to see, two beds.

The man bowed his head a little in Merlin’s direction but didn’t come inside. “The queen bade me apologise that she cannot offer you a tour of the fort. This storm has raged a fortnight with no sign of abating and has caused considerable damage; she must attend to it before all else. It would do you and her a disservice to display the land in such poor condition. Not to mention,” his tone became less formal for a moment, “you would get a bit wet in the course of it. We eat at sundown, or an approximation of it.”

After a moment, Arthur laughed.

“Thank you,” said Merlin courteously. “I look forward to seeing you at dinner.”

The door swung shut behind the soldiers. Merlin and Arthur found themselves alone, clearly still prisoners but prisoners of interest, in a less dangerous position.

Merlin looked from the bed nearest him to the window, which he fancied was shuddering under the weight of the wind and hard battering from the rain. Then he turned to face Arthur and opened his mouth to speak.

“No,” said Arthur fiercely. “No.” He held up his hand, face twisted in something close to pain now that they were well alone. He didn’t say anything else though, just stood there in the middle of the room, still and angry. Raging in his betrayal. Or so Merlin supposed.

Merlin straightened his back. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he said quietly. “I wanted to tell you.”

Arthur didn’t reply, only curled his fingers into a fist and lowered his arm to his side.

“It was never the right time,” Merlin continued, like this was something he could just explain away to his closest friend. “And I didn’t want you to have to choose. I thought maybe when you become king, perhaps then—”

“Good lord, Merlin, do you never shut up,” said Arthur, and in two quick strides, had Merlin in his arms. 

They kissed for all they were worth, like this was the last time as well as the first—the second, Merlin thought, considering Arthur’s mouth on his in the great hall below, only then Arthur hadn’t had his hands on Merlin’s face and tracing down his body to yank his breeches open. Merlin groaned as Arthur wrapped his fingers around his prick and tightened as he pulled, holding their bodies close. “You told me to trust you,” he whispered harshly against Merlin’s mouth. “And you lied to me for all this time.”

“I didn’t,” Merlin gasped. He tried to get his hand into Arthur’s breeches and failed, so he turned his head to press his mouth to Arthur’s neck instead, arms around Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur turned into it. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Except betray me and everything I stand for,” said Arthur. He released his hold on the back of Merlin’s neck and took a second to untie the laces he hadn’t let Merlin get near, and shifted to line his cock up alongside Merlin’s and then continued to use his hand. “And force me to choose between everything I stand for and--”

Merlin worked his hand around to grab Arthur’s arse. “You don’t take a stand against magic,” he muttered as he kissed Arthur again. “You barely watch as your father does.”

“Shut up about my father, Merlin, you’re ruining the mood.”

“I don’t think so,” said Merlin. He groaned again as Arthur walked them back to whichever bed was nearest and tugged, landing them on the mattress—not straw—with Merlin on top, knees on either side of Arthur’s hips.

Arthur yanked Merlin’s head down and kissed him again, mouth wet, hand still working their cocks. Merlin was breathing heavily now and running out of breath anyway. He pushed Arthur’s shirt up to get his hands on every part of him that he could: Arthur’s stomach, the subtle dip of his waist, smoothing along the long line of his neck that had tormented Merlin for years. He threw his head back as he thrust into Arthur’s fingers, heart in his throat.

“I’m not going to—I’m—” he managed, right as he came between them over Arthur’s hand and his cock, then let his head fall back down as Arthur let go of his cock and jerked his own hard, his powerful thighs lifting up against Merlin’s arse until he cursed and came, falling back against the bed.

Merlin swung his leg from around Arthur’s waist and flopped down beside him. Then, before he could overthink it, or talk himself out of it, he propped himself up on his elbow so he could press a long, slow kiss to Arthur’s mouth, ignoring the mess between them and making his intentions known.

“All right,” muttered Arthur when they were done, petting Merlin’s face gently. “Good. More of that later, I think.” He looked at Merlin with a pleased sort of expression on his face. “A lot more.”

“I think so too,” Merlin said immediately, and refused to be embarrassed when Arthur smirked at him.

The rain was coming down in waves against the window, and Merlin couldn’t hear the guards but he had no doubt they were close by. He had a strange feeling of privacy that they never enjoyed in Camelot.

“Right. Well, now that I know about everything you’ve been hiding from me for the last few years—I assume?” Arthur raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, or the important parts anyway—”

“—then there must be a way out of here that I hadn’t thought of,” finished Arthur. He looked expectantly at Merlin. “So. What useful things can you do? Can you magic us back to Camelot? What was all that she was saying about cold iron?”

“It was irrelevant,” said Merlin, who had had enough involvement in the death of sorcerers for his liking. “Actually, it was wrong, as you saw when I broke us free.”

“Fine, calm down, it’s forgotten. I won’t tell my father. How do we escape? You must have a plan.”

Merlin pulled up short. He sat up and shuffled his breeches back up, wrinkling his nose a bit as he did, just to give himself a bit more time. “Ah, well—”

“Merlin,” Arthur said warningly. Merlin watched a little mournfully on as Arthur sat up and did the same, although he thought to clean himself off a little on one of the blankets underneath him first.

“That wasn’t … everything important,” Merlin said. “Not quite.”

Arthur waited impatiently for clarification. “What did you leave out?”

Merlin stood. He didn’t much relish going out in the rain, but now was the time for it.

He gathered his magic for a second, enjoying the feeling of the wind circling around his knees and ankles, and then breathed over his hand as if he was blowing a kiss.

The bars fell out of the window on one side, the glass on the other; Merlin listened and heard it smash to pieces against the stone tower walls almost immediately. The wind became abruptly louder as it shrieked past and under the door, the curtains becoming damp and billowing out into the room.

Merlin bent low and kissed Arthur’s mouth again, feeling him lean up and into the kiss with all the great and mighty faith he had in his heart. “Trust me.”

“Ok,” said Arthur, and Merlin would never doubt Arthur again.

The soldiers were probably already on their way up through the tower. But they were running in all that armour and Merlin thought he could hold them off.

He pulled back from Arthur’s mouth and tugged him off the bed to his feet. “One more secret,” he said.

Arthur shook his head. “Will it get us back to Camelot in one piece?”

“Yes. Actually,” he corrected himself, “not _it_. He. And he doesn’t need a map to get us there.”

“Well hurry up then. I don’t fancy walking back.”

“You’re in luck.” He turned to the rain and called the dragon.


End file.
